Chương 5
Claire could have handed it to her.
Instead she said, “Because adults sometimes know a thing is wrong and still get scared to fix it.”
Noah seemed dissatisfied.
That was fair.
“So are you my sister?”
Claire’s breath stopped.
Megan covered her mouth.
Noah looked alarmed.
“Did I say another bad thing?”
“No.”
Claire leaned forward.
“No. You didn’t.”
“Dad said you’re my sister.”
The word felt absurd and tender and terrible.
Claire looked at the child’s shoelace. One loop was longer than the other.
“Yes,” she said. “I guess I am.”
Noah nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Children were cruelly efficient sometimes.
Claire almost envied him.
He picked up his bow tie.
“Do I have to wear this again?”
“No.”
That made him smile for the first time.
It lasted less than a second, but Claire saw it.
Megan began crying silently.
Claire stood.
Noah looked up at her.
“Will I see you again?”
Claire did not look at Megan before answering.
“Yes.”
She hoped it was not another promise made by a frightened adult.
When Claire came back downstairs, Daniel was helping the coordinator gather gifts.
He stopped as soon as he saw her.
Most of the room had emptied.
The cake remained untouched.
Its three white tiers looked faintly ridiculous under the lights.
Someone had removed the small bride-and-groom figurines from the top. Claire never learned who.
Daniel approached.
“Your aunt took your overnight bag to the hotel.”
“I’m not going there.”
“Okay.”
“I’m staying at Mara’s.”
Mara was Claire’s cousin and the only person at the reception who had not attempted to speak to her after the confrontation.
Daniel nodded.
“I’ll go home.”
“Our apartment is both of ours.”
“I know.”
“I’m not throwing you out tonight.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because every other thing I say makes this worse.”
Claire looked at him.
“That may be the first accurate assessment you’ve made.”
He accepted it.
“I told the remaining guests we had a family emergency.”
“Technically true.”
“I didn’t tell them details.”
“That is also fine. The truth isn’t public property.”
Daniel looked relieved.
Claire noticed and disliked the relief.
“Don’t mistake privacy for secrecy.”
His shoulders lowered.
“I won’t.”
“You already did.”
He nodded.
Claire looked at his wedding ring.
His eyes followed hers.
She touched her own ring.
For a second she considered removing it and handing it to him.
The gesture felt too theatrical.
She left it where it was.
“I need three days without you calling me.”
“Three?”
“Yes.”
“What if—”
“No emergencies manufactured for contact. No asking Mara how I’m doing. No messages through my father. No flowers.”
Daniel nearly smiled at the flowers.
He stopped himself.
Claire saw it anyway.
She had loved him for four years.
That did not disappear because she wanted it to.
That was another inconvenience nobody had warned her about.
“What happens after three days?” he asked.
“I decide what question I want to ask first.”
He swallowed.
“Okay.”
Claire walked past him.
At the dock, photographers waited near the exit because nobody had told them to leave.
One lifted his camera automatically.
Claire stopped.
The photographer lowered it.
“Sorry.”
She looked at him.
He could not have been more than twenty-five.
“Do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Tonight stays private.”
He nodded quickly.
“I won’t post anything.”
“You got paid?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
She continued down the ramp.
Mara waited beside a rideshare car in a green bridesmaid dress and sneakers.
Claire stared at the sneakers.
Mara shrugged.
“My feet hurt.”
Claire started laughing.
It came out wrong at first, almost a cough.
Then she laughed hard enough that she had to hold the car door.
Mara laughed too because there was nothing else to do.
Halfway to the hotel where Mara was staying, Claire began crying.
She hated that more.
Mara handed her a napkin from the glove compartment and looked out the window.
That kindness made it possible.
The next morning Claire woke at six twelve with the taste of stale champagne in her mouth and her mother’s letter on the bedside table.
She had not opened it.
Mara slept on the other bed with one arm over her face.
Outside the hotel window, delivery trucks blocked half the street.
Someone leaned on a horn.
Claire sat up.
Her wedding dress hung from the bathroom door because there had been nowhere else to put it.
The black sash had twisted during the night.
She stared at it for a while.
Then she showered, borrowed gray sweatpants from Mara, and went downstairs for coffee.
The lobby café had exactly one employee and seven customers.
Claire waited behind a man arguing about oat milk.
The normality irritated her until it didn’t.
She ordered plain coffee.
At a corner table, she opened her phone.
Eighty-three unread messages.
She turned it facedown.
The cream envelope sat inside her bag.
Claire put both hands around the coffee.
Her mother had been dead five years.
Five years was long enough for a person to become edited by memory.
Eleanor Bennett no longer interrupted people in Claire’s recollections. She no longer held grudges for petty reasons, forgot birthdays when distracted, or refused to replace a toaster that burned one side of every piece of bread.
Death had turned her into someone patient and wise.
The letter threatened that version of her.
Claire did not want to know what a dying Eleanor had believed was reasonable.
Mara appeared ten minutes later wearing sunglasses indoors.
“You look terrible,” Claire said.
“So do you.”
“Good.”
Mara sat.
She did not ask about the letter.
Claire appreciated that for nearly a full minute.
Then she said, “You can ask.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
Claire picked at the cardboard sleeve around her cup.
“Did you know?”
Mara removed her sunglasses.
“No.”
“Would you tell me?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
Claire looked at her.
Mara shrugged.
May you like
“That seems to be the problem, right?”
Claire looked back at her coffee.
